Summer And The Achafalaya Pipeline
by Aqualad
Summary: Gambit and Storm learn to see the good in each other over a bowl of gumbo. From DH Brooks, the author of "A Legacy Of The Pacific," from Cedar Grove Books.


SUMMER AND THE ACHAFALAYA PIPELINE

by Daria

[The following is a work of fan fiction and is not for profit. Gambit, Ororo, Tante Mattie and related characters are owned by Marvel Entertainment Inc. This story may not be reprinted for profit and not reprinted without permission from the author for any other purpose.]

Her hair is the color of snow on gray-tiled roofs, not that we see much of that sort of thing down here in on the Gulf Coast. It just reminds me of those Nineteenth Century-styled Christmas cards that Tantie likes so much---the ones that make everyone who doesn't live in the Frost Belt feel like they don't have a "real" Yuletide because theirs comes with a heat wave and high humidity every year. Kind of sad how we let other people's perceptions make us feel bad about ourselves and our situation in life.

Me and Ororo know about that really well because we're mutants, that cold, clinical term for us, or, to the general populace, we're freaks, weirdoes or terrorists of some kind. All this vitriol just because we were born with genetic anomalies which make us able to do things out of a science fiction movie by natural means. Life sure can throw some funny curves...maybe "funny" ain't the right word for it. ‚e tragique? ‚e folie? ‚e bizarre? 'Xpect it's like eating at a Chinese restaurant: just pick one from each column and mix 'em up.

Case in point: the two of us. Fate threw us together, though some might say it was more like dumb luck. I happen to be the number one courtier to Lady Luck, so I say we should speak kindly of her and never call her "dumb." That's the gambler in me, I 'xpect. My friend here, well, it seems that Lady Luck's dimwitted half-brother Hard Luck is more her associate, though I know him pretty well myself. An amazingly gifted thief for her tender age of thirteen--at least she appears to be thirteen--Ororo Munroe is a mystery to everyone, including herself, since she seems to be suffering from amnesia and can't remember her life prior to a few weeks ago.

Possessed of a quick, agile body, a mind to match it and the ability to command the very winds and clouds above us, my little friend makes for a formidable enemy, but I liked her from the start...which wasn't all that long ago. We met up when I was robbing a hood of his stolen art collection; while in the process of sizing up the scene, I found this little slip of a girl doing the same. She managed to keep her composure even though she was being pursued and tormented by a living nightmare: some paranormal demon trying to own her. I wanted to protect her and to be her friend from the moment I laid eyes on her...and then she started smartinÕ off at me anÕ made me regret it.

"Remy LeBeau, you idiot!" she screams, smacking my arm for good measure, "Keep your eyes on the road!"

I raise my arm to her in a mock threat, as if I'd planned to strike her back. "Do so and you'll draw back a stub!" she spat in that stoic, Britain-meets-Africa tinged voice of hers, folding her arms to exaggerate her threat.

"Oh...like I'm scared of a half-pint like you!" I reply, lowering my sunglasses just enough for their black lens to reveal my notorious red and black eyes. I allow them to shoot daggers at her before adding a big brotherly smile to my face to soften the mood. "You wound me, Stormy!" I cry, patting my heart. "I was payin' attention; just got caught up in thinking about something is all, cherie. Ain' no need o' you worrying your pretty li'l head: Remy takin' care of things."

"Hmph...and for the last time, stop calling me that!" she shouts like an old grouch, right before settling down deep in the passenger seat of our rented convertible. She shoots another look at me, but this time it comes from her softer side. "Sorry...it's just that it's humid and scorching hot and I'm tired. We've been driving for miles and miles. I've forgotten what God-forsaken state we're in now," she grumbles, shifting uncomfortably beside me.

"Well, you' the weather diva, petite," I drawl in mock yokel style, noting her unique ability to create clouds, lightning and fog on a blistering hot day. "Why you don' just tell Mother Nature to work up a cooler day, huh?"

Scoffing, she turns away from me and fixes her steel blue eyes on the road ahead. "It...it doesn't seem to work that way. Not...always..."

"We crossed the state line back into Louisiana, chere---'God forsaken' Louisiana, that is," I reply, trying to take her mind off of thinking about her sometimey powers. Those words elicited the first smile I've seen out of her since we pulled off a peach of a robbery two nights prior in Mobile, Alabama. A low-life mobster had been bragging to the underground that he'd come into the possession of a gorgeous Renoir piece, the same one boosted from a museum which had been exhibiting it in aid of raising funds to keep themselves from having to close. Li'l 'Ro and I "liberated" the artwork and returned it to its rightful owners and alerted the local police to other priceless objects and a fair amount of kiddie pornography this scumbag was in possession of. Needless to say, we wanted no connection to the robbery and didn't even claim the reward this time, though we did help ourselves to a couple of expensive watches which we pawned to pay for the gas we needed to blow that pop stand. We beat a fast retreat back to my old stomping grounds, down toward New Orleans, Louisiana. With me, it's as they say, "You can take the boy outta The Big Easy"---and heaven knows, them folks have tried---"but you can't take The Big Easy outta the boy!" Truer words was never spoken, so here and now I pilot our car to take us back to familiar turf, at least for me.

"You always wear that same smile when you mention Louisiana, Remy," Ororo notes as she fumbles with the tattered map she'd pulled from the glove compartment.

"Cajun country is my homeland and New Orleans holds my heart. No matter where else I've tried to live, something here always calls me back. Actually, I've been wishing that I could show you more of the Big Easy, cherie...but I gotta keep a low profile back there," I explain with a fair amount of effort to conceal my shame.

"Why?" comes that expected question from her. "Did you steal from crime lords there too? I would have thought you too clever a thief to leave your calling card in your own home town."

The smirk on her face begins to dim when 'Ro realizes that I'm not amused and not feeling very comfortable with this conversation. "Maybe I'll tell you about it when we get to Tantie's place."

Her blue-gray eyes, ever an interesting contrast to her cocoa-brown skin and frosty hair, flash with curiosity. "Who or what is a 'tantie'?" she asks.

"A 'who,' NOT a 'what,' gal!" I correct her. "She's my auntie...well, my play auntie. You'll love her. You'll see, darlin'; just you wait."

There wasn't too much more driving before we hit Highway 59 where it meets Interstate 10 leading into Slidell, the expansive view of Lake Pontchartrain stirring a renewed interest in our travels within Ororo. Traveling the South for a girl of her appearance hadn't been easy on her, Southerners being what they are about racial issues. I brought her to New Orleans because I could better protect her in a town with which I'm familiar and where we could have decent lodging without the bigotry which is still exhibited in some motels and hotels, especially at the sight of a preteen Black girl traveling with an older Cajun boy. I have a house in the city and opened it up to her. Having a nice soft bed, a bright and airy room I filled with flowers for her and someone to look out for her seemed to do wonders for her demeanor.

Beyond the redneck menace as we drove around the South, the last thing I wanted to be arrested for was for contributing to the delinquency of a minor, no. With the stares that the two of us had been subjected to over the past few weeks---I'd guess mostly because of the disparity in our ages---that was a fair estimation of possibility. I guess it's really not as bad as all that. At twenty, I'm still not considered an adult in some states, though I've always found a way to get hold of both cigarettes and alcohol by flashing a smile...or hypnotizing whoever's minding the cash register with my hyper-Cajun charm. Mutant powers can definitely have their uses, to be sure, but being a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth, smooth-talking boy just comes naturally to a son of Acadie like me.

'Ro seems mighty surprised as I turn down a dusty road off of the main drive and park next to a small wooden house with fading paint, a broken shutter on the front window and chickens freely roaming all over the property. Taking my shades off, I jump over the car door and walk to the front of the house, motioning Ororo to do the same. A big dog's distant, deep bark came closer and closer to us as it ran from the rear of the house to meet us at the bottom step of the porch, its growling visibly frightening Ororo. As it lunges toward me, baring its sharp teeth, I lean forward, open my glowing eyes wide and yell, "Shame on you, Philledeaux! You don' love your ol' pal Remy no more, uh?"

My scent and my eyes finally register and the ancient collie rubs his fuzzy head against my leg, begging for and receiving the back scratching he's always loved for me to give to him. Reaching into my pocket, I unwrap a chocolate mint I was given at the restaurant last night and feed it to the grateful pooch.

"Always did spoil that dog too much, you scalawag!" says an older and wiser female voice from the front port. "And stop feeding him candy! His old stomach can't handle that, no!"

"All right, all right, ma vieux femme!" I yell back in the harshest tone I can manage without breaking out into a laugh, but it's impossible to hold back for long. Turning toward the front door, I make a flying leap and bound up the steps, and there in all her glory is my old darling.

"Tantie!" I scream, throwing my arms around her ample frame in the excited manner I did as a young boy, back when I first fell in love with this wonderful, caring woman. Her arms wrap around my body with ease, her embrace as warm as summer sunshine and as sweet as pecan pralines.

"Remy, I swear you get skinnier every time I see you, child!" she laments, shaking her head with sorrow. "Why you don' put some meat on your bones, cher?!"

"Whatchu t'ink I come down here for, Tantie, uh? I could smell dat good ol' gumbo cookin' all th' way up in Cairo, Illinois! Ain' nobody else put th' right amount of filŽ in dere like you do!" I tease her, my Cajun patois getting thicker than Tantie's famous roux. We hold each other for a little while longer, both of us regretting as always that this moment can never last. Eventually we part, with me trying to hold on to the lingering comfort of her hug by holding her hand.

"An' just who is this vision of sweetness, Remy? An' th' next words out your mouth better not be 'my girlfriend,' 'cause you know my woodshed is still right over there an' I got a switch wit' your name on it, boy!" She points a concerned, motherly hand to the right, drawing it back by reaching out to Ororo and pulling her into the fold.

"Tantie, dis is Ororo; she's my friend. She's...kind of lost an' I been takin' care of her." Turning to Ororo, I introduce her to my tantie. '''Ro? Dis here is Tante Mattie...well, dat's what everybody 'round here call her. Rightly, Miss Matilde Baptiste. Dis is my auntie I was telling you of."

I motion her to be friendly, and it's clear to me that Tantie has already taken a shine to 'Ro. She kisses the little spitfire on the forehead and welcomes her to her home, adding, "Just like Remy to be takin' care of a li'l child in need of help, yah. That's how I raised him: to do the Lord's work. Now bring you'selves inside. You both look to be three days shy a meal, poor babies."

Tantie enters the house before us as I reach down to pick up Ororo's travel bag. Leaning toward my ear as I bend down, Ororo asks under her breath, "Why didn't you say anything about your aunt being a Black lady?"

Shrugging my shoulders, I push her inside and follow along. "Dis Louisiana, cherie; got families down here with every color possible in dem. You'll get used to it."

Into the kitchen we go, barely missing a beat between the porch and passing through the tiny parlor which still boasts the same wallpapering I think Tantie's father hung after he built this house with his own two hands back in the late-1800s. Rudolph Baptiste had been enslaved most of his childhood, but the moment he was freed he'd begun to plan for providing a happier life for his future family. He'd saved every penny that he could manage, and by the time he had met and married his wife, he had managed to buy a small tract of land in a then undesirable area on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain. Rudolph built his home and cared for his clan, raising his young daughters to love everyone and everything the Lord had created, to give of themselves selflessly and to always uphold the sanctity of the family. A carpenter by trade, Rudolph volunteered his time and talents to the local parish. His family stood united in their Catholic faith despite the indignity of having to attend the Holy Mass in a segregated church. Their youngest daughter, Mattie, had early on begun to manifest a unique gift for calming the distressed and healing the sick, so her father encouraged her efforts. That gift became widely recognized, and as the years rolled by Mattie became much loved for her healing abilities and kindness to friends and strangers alike. I know, because she loved and protected me like a mother would for most of my life. I'd have been lost without her. Thanks to the mystical Elixir Of Long Life that's been horded by our people---members of the Guild Of Thieves Of New Orleans---Tantie has maintained the body of a forty year old and survived to care for several generations of family and friends.

Tantie sits Ororo down at her small, cozy dining table and motions toward the stove where a stock pot boils and bubbles with its spicy content. "The good Lord must have known you two was coming because He sure put a notion in my head that I should use up all that shrimp I had and whip up a pot o' gumbo today. Always told you the Lord was lookin' out for you, Remy, didn' I, darlin'?"

I toss a smirk at her and roll my eyes at Ororo when Tantie turns to stir her pot. "Yeah, Tantie; you done tol' me that. 'Xpect He'd have to talk to you about me, 'cause He sure don' pay me no never mind," I reply in the driest tone I can manage.

Tantie's turn toward me is slow and calculated. She waves a wooden spoon at me and speaks through clenched teeth. "Boy, ain' I warned you before about blasphemy?! Don' make me embarrass you by puttin' you over my knee in front of li'l 'Roro here, child, 'cause you know I know how!"

Blasphemy is number one on Tantie's list of sins, 'cause she believes that God really is looking out for us every minute of the day and that we should be ever grateful for that. She was the first person I ever heard call this mutant biokinetic power of mine a "gift from God," and not the curse that I grew to think of it as. By the time I was run out of town at eighteen, my biokinesis was so unpredictable that I lived in fear of killing someone by just looking at them. I had truly become the devil people 'round here had always figured me to be and I hated myself for whatever within me had caused me to be such a freak. But Tantie, in typical style, put her Roman Catholic spin on it: "Who are you to tell God He made a mistake, boy? He's looking out for you, petit; you just gotta open up your ears and listen." I love my little surrogate mother and there ain't no way I'd deliberately hurt her by speaking my mind about this subject...unless I can't catch my tongue in time. All I can do is say a prayer for her: "May the Lord preserve her innocence." Stole that from an Irish friend of mine; his people know a lot about suffering too.

"Sorry, Tantie," I apologize, far more afraid of the wrath of my saintly mother figure than of any deity. "Didn' mean no disrespect; you know that. Just...it's been pretty hard for...people like us...out there in th' world. Hard not to get angry, is all."

Tantie winces in sympathy, "The Lord knows your pain, cher. If you prayed like I taught you, you might feel some comfort." Smiling at Ororo, Tantie leans toward her. "Are you like Remy, angel? You got...powers, too?"

Poor 'Ro looks mighty uncomfortable right about now, so I reach out and put my hand on hers. "S'ok, 'Ro. Tantie's cool 'bout our kind. She don't judge. Didn' no one down here know what a mutant was when I was growin' up. Folks said I was a demon; they called me a devil to my face and cursed me up an' down, but Tantie and my papa never paid them no nevermind. See, my papa adopt' me off the streets, back when I was about ten. I'd been scratchin' around in the back alleys most all my life before then. Tantie took to me and I took to her an' we done just fine. That was the first time in my life I'd ever had somebody treat me good...you know, to mother me. Never knew what havin' a mama was supposed to be all about 'til Papa introduce' me to her. Sure got some mighty funny looks when she'd take me out shoppin' with her, I tell you that, but we don't care what folks t'ink, long as we had each other. I'd just trail along behind her, holdin' on to her skirt so as not to get separated. Didn't care much for shoppin', me, 'xcept for gettin' me some lagniappe---that's like a free sample sort o' t'ing we do here---from store to store to store."

The three of us laugh out loud. It feels so good to share my love for this angel of mercy with 'Ro. As I talk, Tantie places a plate of hot biscuits before us, fresh from the oven. I get over to the ice box fast and get the butter, stopping to pick up the honey pot on the way back to the table. 'Ro's little nose starts into twitching. That girl's been getting a tour de force in Southern regional cooking since hooking up with me. So far, she's never met a plate of Soul, Creole or Cajun food that she didn't love with a passion. Still can't figure out where she's putting it all, her and that skinny little like-a-boy body of hers.

"So what YOU do, Titch?" Tantie asks Ororo as she brings a bowl of rice to the table. This startles her, not realizing that she was the one being referred to.

"Sorry?" Ororo asks, raising her eyebrows.

"What's your special power, child?" Tantie clarifies, adding, "And 'titch' just means 'little bit,' sweetheart, 'cause all children are just a little bit of Heaven." Ororo giggles at the analogy, resigned to let Tantie call her anything she likes.

"I seem to have some rapport with the weather...sometimes, Mrs...errr....Tantie," Ororo replies while following my lead and buttering a biscuit. "It doesn't seem to always work, I'm afraid." As if to emphasize the point, 'Ro rubs her left arm, the one she injured in our fall to Earth the other night after the winds at her command died down rather suddenly during our post-robbery escape. "It's still sore," she muses in reply to my silent look of worry.

"We'll fix that in a hot minute!" Tantie calls out, grabbing 'Ro just as she was about to bite into her biscuit, which causes her to drop it onto the table.

Knowing what was coming, I instinctively leave my seat and follow the nurse and her patient into Tantie's workroom. Reaching out to Ororo, I put her biscuit back into her hand. "Best take dis 'long wit' you, gal; may be here a while."

As we enter Tantie's workroom, Ororo's eyes twinkle with wonder at all the plants and dried herbs and roots bundled and dangling from the beams across the roof. Bottles of every color and size line shelves against the wall, and her work table is, as always, cluttered with strings and ribbons, sachet bags and raffia. The scents immediately take me back to my childhood: cinnamon oil, juniper berries, spices of all kinds, dried vanilla beans, sassafras leaves, ginger root, arrowroot, lavender, camomile, lamb's ear and tea leaves. My head swirls once again with the cacophonous mixture of healing agents.

"You let me fix that li'l wing of yours, darlin'," Tantie offers, rubbing a light blue medicinal salve onto 'Ro's arm. "There---that'll make you feel so much better, chere," Tantie consoles Ororo, stopping to hand a small sachet to her. "You put dis under your pillow every night, ya hear? It'll bring you sweet dreams; you may even see your future husband in your sleep."

Ororo cocks her head sideways but spares Tantie her usual skepticism. "I don't suppose you've got anything to help me manage my powers better, have you?"

"Non, cherie," says Tantie apologetically, chucking ÔRoÕs nobby little chin, "All you really need is confidence. Remy used to be so nervous about his powers; he was scared to death of them sometimes. Can't say as I blame him. We sure didn't know what to say or how to help him. You remember how you scared your papa, Remy? You tell her about that sometime."

Tantie pushes us both back to the kitchen. "Never mind, Remy---you ain' no good at storytellin'! I'll tell her!" I feel her whack my backside for good measure, saying, "An' don' roll your eyes at me, boy, an' don' deny you did it, neither. I got eyes in the back of my head and I can see through the back of yours!" Always did wonder how she did that, but it's more powerful than most of the mutant abilities I've seen in action, including my own.

"This was back a few years when Remy was nigh on to fifteen. 'Fore that, we was beginning to wonder when he'd ever grow, what with not gettin' proper nutrition an' all when he was small. Poor li'l thing was just as skinny as a twig; only thing on him that was growin' was that big mop of red hair..."

"TANTIE!" I jump in, feeling my face burning hot with embarrassment. I plead to her with my eyes, but she takes no notice.

"Oh hush, bŽbŽ!" Tantie ignores my pleas. "Ain' nothin' 'bout any of that to make you feel 'shame!" My eyes look to Heaven; she waves the look off and continues.

"Anyway, back then Remy's papa, Jean Luc, was still a real Cajun---a bayou Cajun, that is. Had him a nice little house a few miles outside Lafayette within walkin' distance of the Achafalaya River. He had a place in New Orleans, too, but that was for business in the city, mostly. Bayou Teche, now that was home---a real home. In the summer, the LeBeau clan spent most of their time out there, with the tanties organizing picnics on hot afternoons or the Saturday night fais do dos that rotated from house to house. I stayed out there and took care of Remy, since Jean Luc wasn't never much on fatherin' an' let this li'l one run wild an' free most always unless..."

"TANTIE!" I cried again, this time with my head buried in my hands.

"Shush, Remy!" is all she offers before continuing. "That's right---unless his tantie was around to keep an eye on him, chere."

'Ro giggles as Tantie comes over to pry my hands away. "He's so shy, 'Roro; always did go run and hide when somebody was talkin' about him. 'Xpect that was 'cause those aunts of his sure could be hateful---them sisters of Jean Luc's. Made him feel bad about his'self, yeah, poor baby. But that's all right. Always tell him not to pay them no never mind; don' matter what them mean ol' women said about him."

She pats my head and plays with my hair just as she did when I was ten, as if nothing has changed between us since then. In her mind, I suppose, nothing has changed, since she seems to always see me as a little boy in need of a reassuring hug, a clean shirt and a damp cloth to wipe the world's grime from my face.

"So...oh, right," she continues. "Remy like to make me forget what I was tellin' you, darlin'."

"That's what I was tryin' to do, yah. Guess I've lost my touch," I add as Tantie tweaks my cheek for my trouble.

"Rascal!" she chides me, waggling her stout little index finger at me. "Now you hush and let me finish..."

As she ladles gumbo into a tureen, she continues her tale. "So anyway...one day Jean Luc was down to the river fishin' an' I send Remy down there to fetch him back for dinner. All this time he was supposed to be gettin' fish for supper that evening, but I know this man like the back of my hand, so I know he been down there playin' his accordion an' sleepin' if anything, unless the widow Pajaud done passed his way, a swishin' an' a swooshin' an' hikin' up her skirt an' all. Now that was a man-trap if there ever was one, I tell you, gal! So I send Remy to fetch his papa, but I know how Remy is, too, so I figure I best follow him or they both end up sleepin' under the paw-paw trees.

We get down to the river and, sure 'nuff, Jean Luc ain' caught nothin' short of a cold. Ain' no use of scoldin' the man---that's why I always got somethin' left over from the day before when he say he goin' fishin'. The wise woman know to do this; you gonna learn it in good time, too, cherie."

'Ro winks in answer to Tantie's wink, in that "women's signal" thing that they all seem to learn at birth. Feeling oddly out numbered, I get up to move the tureen to the table, the boiling hot handles making me immediately sorrowful for not taking the big clumsy potholders Tantie had offered to me. "A hard head makes a hard bed, Remy; you oughta know that by now!" she teases, shaking her head at Ororo as she swings the ladle like a lecturer's pointer. "Don' worry, dear; he'll be fine," I hear over the rushing cold water from the sink where I comfort my aching hands. Tantie sits next to 'Ro an' begins to fill a bowl with rice and gumbo for her.

"So Remy goes up to his papa," she continues, not missing a beat, "...and tells him not to worry. 'I know a new way to catch dem fish, Papa!' he says, just as proud as a peacock. He reached down, picked up a rock about the same size as his little hand, and then he hold on to it---you know how he do? Well, that rock start to glowin' pink an' white an' all, an' then Remy pitched it into the river. BOOM! Like big day time! Nearly knock me off my feet and like to drown his poor papa! An' out on the river you can see the fish, one after 'nother after 'nother just pop up to the surface---POOM POOM POOM! Remy run out with his papa's net and gather them up, just as happy with his'self as could be. Got him a catch of about 25 fish just like that. By the time he get back on shore, Jean Luc done got his senses an' his hearin' back...an' he was ready to take Remy's head clean off!"

"Ain' never seen Papa that mad before, Tantie," I interrupt her, memories of the incidence flooding back into me. "I remember droppin' th' net an' Papa grabbin' my arm an' you by the skirt and rushin' us into the bushes. Thought th' world was comin' to an end or something! Seems we hid in there for th' longest time..."

"That we did, cher," Tantie added, still ladling gumbo, this time to me. "An' then Jean Luc say, 'Go get dem fish an' bring dem here, boy, yah! We don' waste no good catch like dat!' Now THAT'S a real Cajun man: ain' nothin' so bad he don' t'ink 'bout his supper! Haaaaa! Then when didn' no one come along after a few minutes, that's when Jean Luc's tongue come back into his head. Say Grace."

'Ro puts down the spoon she'd just picked up and looks at Tantie cautiously. "Sorry?" she asks.

"I told Remy to say Grace. We don' eat in this house until we thank the Lord for givin' our meal to us. Remy?"

Oh great---she honestly thinks I remember how to do this? Actually, I expect I do; I'm just a titch out of practice after so long. I haven't said a prayer before eating since I was eighteen, on my wedding day, to be exact. Never has seemed to be a need to do so since then. Frankly, I've been feeling too cursed to bother. If God listened to me, He wouldn't have taken everything I loved away from me on the day I should have been the happiest in my whole life. All the praying in the world wouldn't have blessed the scraps I used to survive on out of trash bins and dumpsters, neither in the alleys where I grew up, back before I was adopted, nor after I ended up out in the world with just the clothes on my back after being run out of town like an unwanted dog. Still, I wouldn't hurt Tantie for anything in the world, so I figure I better remember some holy words quick.

"For this meal, make us...uhmmm...really grateful," I offer, head bowed like the good little Catholic boy I used to be.

"Truly grateful, Lord," Tantie intercedes for me. "And thank you for sending these lovely children to share this meal with an old lady like me, Lord. Amen," she prays, adding in a whisper she figures only God can hear, "You got to forgive him, Lord; Remy's been away for awhile now."

'Ro's nose is curled in that girlish way she's got and she smiles brightly at Tantie as the starter's signal goes to green. Seconds later, her spoon flies into action and I marvel again at where she manages to pack away so much food within such a tiny frame.

"We should always be grateful for bounty large and small; that's what Jean Luc forgot that day," Tantie says, resuming her story. "He was so shocked by what Remy did and scared for what people might say if they heard the noise that he forgot everything else. When the words came back to him, he started yellin' at poor Remy. 'Why you do dat, boy?! What you go an' do dat for in big day time where everyone can see you?! Aaahhpapapapapapapapa! Never thought that man would calm down! An' poor li'l Remy---he just don't know what to do, poor darlin'. Jean Luc done scare him so, he just run to me an' hug me an' cried his eyes out. Jean Luc still just a' yellin' away, 'Ain' gonna let you coddle dat boy, non! He ain' no baby no more!'

"Remy tell him, 'Papa! I didn' mean no harm!' All Jean Luc want to know is how many folk know about this---about what Remy can do. I tell him to leave the boy alone. Remy hadn't told no one but me about this...about Remy's miracle. That seem' to make Jean Luc feel better an' he finally stop' yellin' an' all. That's when you and your papa make peace wit' each other, huh, boy?"

I look at Tantie for what seems a long while, and then to 'Ro. "We didn' know th' word 'mutant' back then, chere," I tell her, "But that's when we all knew I was meant to be different from the other children. Not that my eyes hadn't already made us figure on that, you know? Papa take my hands in his own and stare at them for a long while. Then he said, 'You got you a special gift in these li'l hands, cher. People...dey ain' gonna understand. Dey'll want to use you---take advantage an' exploit you.'

I wasn't sure what Papa meant. I looked at him an' asked, 'You mean I can go on the TV an' do Stupid Human Tricks for money an' all, Papa?' I was an ignorant li'l somebody, huh, Tantie?"

Tantie just shakes her head and laughs quietly to herself, filling Ororo's bowl for the second time. "Yeah, an' that's when your papa want to know what you been doing stayin' up an' watchin' the late late TV shows on your school nights, yah!"

"Yeah, an' that's when I figured I must be like them heroes---them astronauts that went into space an' come back with powers, huh, Tantie! I figured they all got weird powers an' all, an' my eyes and what come out of my hands was weird too---like them 'Fantastique Four.' I figured maybe I was one of them, or maybe my folks was aliens or something. Maybe they got stuck here on Earth and left me behind when they got took off the planet."

"I had to watch him, cherie," Tantie tells 'Ro, "I was afraid I'd catch him jumpin' off the roof wit' a towel 'round his neck for a cape one day, tryin' to fly like an alien!"

"Papa wasn't havin' none of that alien talk, 'Ro," I pick up where I'd stopped. "'Boy, you ain' no dadblasted alien, no!' he told me, 'You ain' no monster nor nothing else like dat! You a good boy, and you gonna be a fine young man. You care about folks, just like we done teach you. Don' worry 'bout what mean folks got to say; dey don' know you like we do. But you got to be careful with dis gift the Lord done give you. Don' be usin' it to show off; you could hurt people if you don' know what you doing with it. Showin' off---dat's pride; dat's a sin, an' it could get you in trouble,' he say. 'Best keep dis a secret 'tween us.'

I figured Papa was right, 'Ro---figured wasn't good lettin' other folks know what I could do. They already called me a devil; didn't need to make them more scared of me. But Papa also told me to practice---practice using my powers and not to be ashamed of them. 'God give you that gift so that you could do his work on Earth,' Tantie told me, an' I ain' forgot that, non. An' that's like you, too, 'Ro. You got a gift too---that big wind of yours, an' you got to practice it to protect yourself and help others. I'll help you if I can, but don' never be ashamed of being what you are, gal...never."

Ororo nods her head, first at Tantie and then at me, adding a smile eventually. "I suppose I've been like that, as well---too afraid to really try, for fear of what might happen. I don't see how you contain such a dangerous explosive energy within your body, Remy. I couldn't do that."

"You do it everyday, cherie," I remind her. "Anybody who can make it rain like a big flood, who can make lightning on a dry summer day---that's an energy like makin' rocks blow up, easy." She smiles, conceding the point.

"The Lord's got a special purpose in mind for you children," Tantie reassures us, fussing around the table and getting more rice from the stove. "You just have to accept yourselves for the wonderful people you are and listen for your callin'. Don't ever give up on yourselves. There's too many people in the world in need of someone to believe in. Someone like you."

'Ro and I stare at each other for a moment, partly in wonder of Tantie's words. Maybe that's why we were thrown together---two people with nothing in common save our skills at theft and some strange fluke of nature which gave us weird abilities people look down on us for having. This little girl needed me to help her believe in herself, and, by some strange coincidence, I needed her for the same reason. Maybe "saving the world" isn't as big a mission as saving ourselves and supporting each other. If I do nothing else in life, protecting this child would be enough of a cause. Papa always used to tell me "Everything happens for a reason, Remy-boy," when I was upset about the other kids laughing at me, making fun of my eyes or because I come from the streets and have no family of my own. Maybe I've found my "reason," and she's wolfing down a third bowl of gumbo with no end in sight.

------DB


End file.
